


promise

by claimedbydaryl



Series: all forms of communication [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Smut, asahi and noya's origin story is revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8989651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: With only forty-five minutes to Asahi's eighteenth birthday, Noya decides to make proper use of the remaining time they have together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> alright alright alright, so this is a companion piece set between chapters 10-11 of the parent fic, [Message Sent](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8160638/chapters/18700820), so i'd suggest reading that if u want better context, but it can still be considered standalone smut-wise.

“So, how did you two meet?”

Asahi spluttered, raspberry soft drink spilling from his mouth in an inelegant arc. He jerked forward as Daichi thumped his back in good intention, although rather than his throat clearing, Asahi’s sinuses burned as he choked on the remaining dredges of his drink.

“Oh,” Kuroo said, his interest piqued. “I see I’ve unlocked Asahi’s dark past.”

Asahi glanced at him from across Daichi’s lawn, a hand pressed to his mouth to stifle the sounds of his slow death. He and their friend group—and the welcome addition of Noya—gathered in a lazy circle of deck chairs, scattered paper plates laden with the remainder of their barbeque dinner and an Esky substituted as Bokuto's armrest.

Daichi had organised his eighteenth birthday with the same modest casualness he did with everything else, so much that it felt like a non-event that was decidedly characteristic of him. When the heat had simmered to a bearable minimum, they’d managed to play a non-competitive game of volleyball until Bokuto had crashed into one of the flimsy poles holding the net taut across the grass.

The atmosphere was spent in the typical fashion of an Australian summer’s evening, warm and lazy, like the downy comfort of a blanket. The brilliant gold of the horizon had dimmed to a clear black, pockmarked with stars, they’d settled into the relaxed, companionable company of friends before cracking a few beers open after dinner.

Kuroo had presented Daichi with a six-pack that shared the same name as Asahi, which he and Daichi both found hilarious—and the majority of them had been promptly hammered. Asahi had drunk slowly enough that he hadn’t yet reached the cusp of tipsy, and Noya and Akaashi had sobered soon after switching to water two hours ago.

However, Kuroo’s inebriation was fast-acting poison that further loosened his sharp tongue, all his inhibitions cast to the wind. He leaned forward, hands and a bottle of Swedish cider dangling between his knees, his smirk a dangerous curve.

“Think of it as a present to Daichi,” Kuroo said, gesturing to Daichi as if his best friend deserved the simple gift of knowledge.

“Yeah,” Daichi agreed, proceeding to poke Asahi’s back with his toe. “Do it for the vine!”

Asahi whirled around in his unstable seat, his mouth open in outraged shock. However, the sting of betrayal faded at the sight of Daichi’s attention fixated on the phone in his hands rather than the foot on Asahi’s back. “You’re not even invested in this conversation, you’re talking to Suga.”

“He said he’d send me cute pics when I woke up,” Daichi argued, not even deigning to look at his best friend. “Like, I mean cute-cute, like with those pretty highlights or in a knitted Christmas sweater or something.”

“You’d look great in a sweater, Akaashi,” Bokuto slurred, raising his head from its place resting against Akaashi’s leg. He tugged on the front of Akaashi’s shirt, although Asahi didn’t know if he did it to emphasis to his point or in hopes of pulling him down, down, down for a kiss.

However, Akaashi merely wrinkled his nose at the smell of Bokuto’s alcohol-sour breath, instead substituting a kiss for the affectionate press of fingers threading through Bokuto’s hair. It seemed to be a worthwhile alternative, judging by Bokuto’s pleased hum.

Kuroo snapped his fingers, capturing his focus in an instant. “Asahi, don’t avoid the question.”

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, Asahi opened his mouth to argue until Noya made an excited interjection. “We used to be each other’s beta reads on fanfiction.net. You would not believe the shit Asahi used to write!”

“What—” Akaashi.

“In—” Bokuto.

“The fresh—” Daichi.

“Hell.” Kuroo.

Asahi looked around, as if searching for the closest available escape route. After a few seconds of doomed optimism that he would survive this night unscathed, Asahi sighed, his gaze settling on the person seated next to him. His boyfriend.

“I wasn’t going to tell them,” he said, speaking behind a cupped hand to provide them with a semblance of privacy. “Like ever. Never.”

Noya blinked with an owlish innocence, before his pupils widened in realisation. “Asahi, I didn’t mean to—”

“What did you write? Fluff? _Smut_? Oh my god, did you use Wattpad? Tell me you didn’t, did you?” Each of Daichi’s questions were punctuated with a kick to the broad expanse of Asahi’s back, jostling his shoulder with the repeated movement.

Shaking his head, Asahi felt his face heat with a burning shame.

“Tell us, Asahi,” Kuroo prompted, sipping from the long neck of his bottle.

Asahi’s hands flew up to hide his embarrassed flush, although he soon felt Noya’s smaller fingers wrap around his wrists, forcing him to open his eyes and look. Noya’s expression was stricken, attuned to how Asahi’s anxiety could twist into a drastic spiral, but his unease softened once Asahi flashed him a tentative smile.

“C’mon, Asahi, it’s Daichi’s birthday!” Bokuto said. “You gotta tell us.”

“We can leave,” Noya whispered.

Despite feeling grateful towards Noya for suggesting an easy escape, Asahi knew it would be rude to leave so early in the night without so much as a backwards glance. And he was partly responsible for causing the whole debacle in which Daichi and Suga realising they could’ve met if not for Asahi’s and Noya’s insistence for privacy. If Asahi did this—and told them—then his lingering guilt could be obliterated, even if it meant a lifetime of enduring Kuroo’s relentless teasing.

“You have to promise never to tell anyone outside of us five,” Asahi affirmed, serious.

Kuroo continued to smirk, and Daichi patted Asahi’s shoulder with his foot. Bokuto hollered.

“And once he finishes speaking,” Noya said, with an uncharacteristic solemness that was almost comical, “Asahi and I are gonna go home, and I’m going to suck his dick in apology.”

Daichi coughed, and Asahi swore he had never seen Kuroo _leer_ like he did then. He gripped Noya’s hand in his own, suppressing the urge to dissolve into a sniffling mess of distress.

“I used to write fanfiction,” Asahi announced. He ignored how every one of his friends seemed to lean forward in their seats, captivated by Asahi’s confession—even the reserved Akaashi seemed intrigued at the prospect of learning Asahi’s secret.

“And?” Kuroo asked, expectant.

“I used to write self-insert _Naruto_ fanfiction, and Noya was my beta reader.”

Silence.

“We met after he commented on my Mario/Princess Peach fic,” Noya explained when it was clear Asahi wouldn’t. “And then we just started talking, and he said he’d help edit my Wario/Waluigi fic, and then we swapped emails. Later we switched to Snapchat once we realised how much of fucking idiots we were.”

“Noya, let’s go,” Asahi pleaded, rising to his feet so suddenly his chair tipped backwards.

“Okay, bye everyone! Happy birthday, Daichi!”

“Have a nice night, guys.” Asahi spoke softer than Noya, but his words were no less meaningful. “And look after Bokuto, please.”

Asahi’s fingers were wound tight around Noya’s, and his grip didn’t relax until he had made it a few metres past the edge of Daichi’s backyard. Then, the appropriate time had been given to process what they’d said, and noise erupted behind them.

“Did you write it about fucking Sasuke? Or Kakashi?” Daichi sounded considerate, like the issue heeded thoughtful reflection. “I knew you had a crush on him, you dingleberry.”

“ _Super_ _Mario Bros_? Really? _How_?” Kuroo’s question was punctuated with the wide sing of his arm outwards, alcohol sloshing over his knuckles.

“Was it smutty?” Bokuto’s grin was lewd.

“ _Super_ _Mario Bros_?” Then, with emphasis: “ _Super_ _Mario Bros_?”

“Did you say ‘penis’? Or ‘throbbing member’? Prick? Big ol’ dick? No, wait,” Daichi paused for dramatic effect, “how about staff of Ra? Fucking love that one.”

“Fucking hell. _Super Mario Bros_. Fuck. Double fuck.”

There was no other choice but to laugh, which Noya did, pressing his face into Asahi’s arm to stifle the near hysterical sound. Asahi glanced downwards, fighting the instinctive pull of his mouth into a smile. He felt warm, emboldened by the taste of alcohol, drunk on the weight of Noya leaning against him—he could scarce believe he was here sometimes, that he was real. Asahi had always liked New Year’s Eve, but Daichi’s birthdays were unmatched.

Their mirth subsided in the short walk between Daichi’s house and Asahi’s, easing into a companionable silence shared between two people who were simply content to be together. Inside Asahi’s hallway, Noya tugged his shoes off as Asahi glanced at the overhead clock.

“What’s the time?” Noya asked, resting his chin on Asahi’s chest, staring up at him.

“Quarter past eleven.”

“Okay. I guess we have enough time then.”

Asahi blinked, looking down to see his arms wrapped around Noya’s small frame, his limbs having moved without thought. “For what?”

In lieu of answering, Noya grinned—Asahi’s heart rate spiked. He tugged Asahi to his bedroom, pausing to ask how long his parents would be gone for, before pushing him down onto the bed when Asahi said they’d likely be alone for the remainder of the night.

“Um, w-what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” It was a rhetorical question, one that heeded no answer.

“It’s just, well—”

Since their first meeting, it had become apparent that Noya kissed in the same way he did all things—without thought, like a quick and direct blow. Although, now it was clear that Noya kissed him with the singular intent to silence Asahi’s protests, to coax him into saying _yes_ rather than stumbling around a _no_.

But, Asahi had never been spontaneous, nor flippant, so he had to ensure that they were both acting on the basis of mutual consent.

“Noya,” he broke away, lips tingling with sensation, “it’s o-okay, you don’t need to do anything—”

“Tomorrow you’ll be eighteen,” Noya interrupted, straddling Asahi’s lap. Deft hands worked Asahi’s belt open, the snap of leather causing Asahi to swallow, his throat parched. “And you said you didn’t want to do anything when I was underage, right?”

Asahi nodded, his breath quickening.

“Then now’s the last time we’ll be able to do this before I have to go back to America.” His fingers had stilled over the buckle of Asahi’s belt, his expression serious with an uncommon pensiveness. “I won’t be eighteen for another two years, and who knows when we’ll see each other again?”

“D-don’t say that, it won’t be that long a-and—”

Leaning forward with a single-minded purpose, Noya silenced Asahi’s anxious babbling in one effective movement. Their lips slid together, damp, soft—Asahi still marvelled at how gentle Noya had treated him, how his boundless energy seemed to settle in a span of a few seconds. It also presented Asahi with the opportunity to turn away, to kindly rebuff Noya if he felt pressured, although now he didn’t.

Asahi didn’t pull back—because he didn’t want to.

Pressing closer to Asahi, Noya hands drifted from his belt to curl around his shoulders, anchoring himself. Hesitating for the smallest moment of time, Asahi ignored the twist of nerves in his stomach before sliding his arms around Noya’s waist in a tentative embrace. Without speaking, Noya seemed to notice Asahi’s obvious nervousness, and opted for a slower approach.

They’d kissed before, in short bursts of chaste contact, or in longer, more dangerous instances that almost swayed Asahi’s steadfast belief in the necessity of waiting. But never had they initiated something that had an inevitable outcome—less clothes, _tongue_ , seeking friction and heat and touch rather than avoiding it.

Angling his head to the side, Noya indulged in the simple pleasure of being close to Asahi rather than hurtling towards a messy, cheap end. He pushed against Asahi to elicit a stronger reaction than meek submission, and his chest rumbled with a pleased hum when Asahi’s grip on Noya’s shirt tightened, matching Noya’s fervour with his own.

Asahi knew he should’ve been content with this—being close, knowing the other person wanted them as much as you did—but he grew more concerned with matters south of his mouth. Because Noya was seated in his lap, and it would’ve been innocent enough if not for how Noya jerked forward, the fabric of their pants sliding together as he followed the instinctive need to press closer at the sound of Asahi’s stuttered gasps.

“Asahi,” he whispered, breathless. He tugged on Asahi’s sleeve. “Take this off. Please.”

Looking up from a thick frame of eyelashes, his gaze deep and lust-dark, Asahi swallowed. He was helpless, unable to do more than grant Noya’s plea, clumsy fingers reached for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Asahi wasn’t prepared to hear the sound of a low growl passing Noya’s lips, and the sudden clash of lips, no longer a tease, but a demand.

Noya had ripped his shirt off somewhere in the space between staring at Asahi and lunging forward, delighted to feel bare skin beneath his fingertips. A hand curled around Asahi’s neck, holding him place as his tongue darted out, sliding along the seam of Asahi’s lips.

Surprised at the sudden pressure, Asahi’s mouth opened—and that was all Noya needed. He widened the spread of his legs, centring his weight in Asahi’s lap and rolling his pelvis in a languid circle. He felt Asahi gasp against him, the startling burst of friction drawing a rough, bitten-off noise from his chest.

Repeating the movement, Noya was surprised to feel Asahi’s hands settle over the small of his back, urging him to continue, to stoke the embers of arousals into something fiercer. Enraptured with the solid outline of Asahi’s thighs beneath of him, of the heaving warmth of Asahi’s chest beneath his palms, Noya ground down against Asahi, revelling in how the latter shuddered at the action.

“Noya.” Asahi was panting in his ear, his voice near reduced to a tremor.

“You okay?”

Asahi leaned his head against Noya’s, restraining the instinctive flex of his hips upwards at each point of contact. He wanted to thrust upwards, to pull Noya to him so their pelvises would slot together into a perfect fusion of pure sensation.

“Asahi?” There was the presence of Noya’s fingers, slipping past Asahi’s hairline to cradle the base of his skull, holding them close. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine,” he managed, “it’s just—”

Noya waited, slowing the tempo of his pace until his arousal burned at a low simmer. He felt Asahi’s fingers dig into the flesh of his waist, and the smallest fracture in his control as he thrust upwards. Noya’s spine curved, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep from crying out at the feeling of Asahi’s erection pressed against him.

“It’s just—a lot to handle,” Asahi gritted out.

It seemed almost natural for Noya to turn, Asahi’s mouth fitting to his in a seamless union. Noya was surprised to feel Asahi’s tongue slid against his, absent of their usual awkward fumbling and laughing apologies—although their sexual experience with each other was sparse, it appeared to not be a useless venture. It was filthier than all the prior contact shared between them, but Asahi was reassured that whatever was between him and Noya, it was real, it was a tangible attraction.

It was a certainty that _this_ —him and Noya, their feelings, their future—was a concrete truth.

Emboldened with the newfound confidence that Asahi wanted this, that he felt comfortable to ask for more than chaste kisses, Noya allowed himself to move with base, animal desire. He no longer chose to think, but to rut against Asahi with a shameless need, sucking air between clenched teeth. Asahi groaned, attempting to match Noya’s pace as he rotated his pelvis forwards, their groins forging contact that nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

After a few minutes, they continued like that—Noya grinding against Asahi, anchored to feel of his body trembling beneath him, his hips jerking upwards in strong thrusts. In the dark, it was almost intimate to hear nothing but laboured panting, and the wet sounds of kissing. It was something only Asahi and Noya could commit to memory, to forever link them together, even if their connection waned.

“Asahi?” Noya was asking, low and breathless. “Can I?” His fingers were circling Asahi’s belt again, looping into the leather band.

“I won’t—” _I won’t last long_.

“It’s okay, I won’t be that much longer too.”

Asahi swallowed, hesitating a single moment before nodding.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined this—here, in his bedroom with Noya—but nothing compared to the first curl of fingers around his freed cock. His grasp was quick and assured, pumping Asahi from the base upwards in a languid movement. Asahi grunted, surging towards the dangerous edge of release.

It was a testament to his own self-restrain how long he waited before asking, “Can I—?”

“What?” Noya was adrift, lost to each breath and quiver that heralded Asahi’s nearing climax.

“Can I do the same thing to you?”

His chin lifting, Noya stared at Asahi, his wide-eyed gaze softening into an affectionate awe. He nodded, teeth flashing as he grinned. Asahi smiled in response, before hooking his tentative fingers into Noya’s waistband and tugging his underwear down.

A strangled noise escaped the boundary of Noya’s lips as he felt Asahi’s grasp his erection, curled into a loose hold. His arousal spiked, washing through him, overwhelming Noya in a wave of pure, blinding sensation. Remembering his own set goal—or, rather, the cock in his hand—Noya forced his focus to centre, regaining a tempo that would make Asahi pulse in his grasp.

“You okay?” Noya asked, surprised he could speak with such assumed calm.

Asahi made a noise of affirmation, fingers tightening around Noya.

“Fuck, Asahi,” he swore into the crook of Asahi’s shoulder.

The temperature had grown with each passing breath, but now the heat seemed unbearable. Asahi skin was sweat-damp under Noya’s attention, shivering with each twist of Noya’s hand, his chest hitching into a shuddering cry. He was approaching a rapid peak, and judging by the sharp press of Noya’s fingernails into his bicep, and the quickening, breathy note of his voice, he was too.

Asahi quickened his pace, his laboured pants smothered in Noya’s hair. His insecurities bled away, replaced with a complete sense of contentment, unwilling to ever end this moment with Noya. Driven to a senseless need to seek simple touch, his free hand slid across Noya’s cheek and turned his mouth towards Asahi’s.

Their lips met, more slick heat than technique, but it was enough. In those last frenzied seconds in which Asahi’s control spiralled, disintegrated, all his fears and worries were obliterated when he jerked forward, gasping something akin to Noya’s name. Asahi’s release was near silent, his muscles tense as his broad shoulders heaved, easing when his pleasure faded with the slowed motions of Noya’s hand.

“Asahi,” Noya said, but his name was phrased like a question. “Asahi, please.” It was a plea to follow Asahi into oblivion.

His movements lacked finesse, and his thoughts were hazy, but Asahi wanted Noya to feel like he did. He wanted to make Noya’s spine arch, his breath catch—to catalogue each telling expression or thoughtless noise which preluded his release.

Asahi kissed Noya again, although he wondered if it was too obscene to call it a simple kiss. Noya whimpered, helpless to Asahi’s emboldened confidence, reduced to a quivering mass of nerves as Asahi’s hand quickened in its movements. His fingers were wet with pre-come, easing the burn of friction into something kinder, easier. And the mere thought that it was Asahi—gentle, shy Asahi—who was causing Noya to edge closer to the final precipice of climax that made his mind blank.

Pleasure flooded through Noya, spilling across Asahi’s knuckles, more powerful than any fantasy of Asahi he’d dared to entertain. He could barely recall what happened in the moments afterwards, but the most lucid things he could recall was feeling Asahi’s mouth at his cheek, hands supporting his back, and a towel running across his skin.

“Noya? Baby, are you okay?” That was Asahi, speaking soft and intimate in the dim.

Snorting, Noya rolled closer to the sound of Asahi’s voice, and he surprised to find his nose pressed into the musk-scented muscle of Asahi’s chest. Pushing himself upright, Noya’s focus centred on the sight of Asahi’s smile, feeling himself warm with affection as fingertips grazed the skin across Noya’s shoulder blades, sweeping down his back.

“You called me baby.”

Asahi glanced sidewards, his cheeks colouring—as if he could be embarrassed now, after jerking Noya off. Then, he turned back to meet Noya’s gaze, his resolve evident in the firm line of his jaw. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why’d you make it sound so serious!” Noya punched Asahi’s arm, laughing in his usual loud and uninhibited fashion. “Fuck, Asahi. You’re my boyfriend. You’re allowed to call me things like that.”

Asahi was still smiling, his limbs arranged into a relaxed sprawl. “Okay,” and then, after a moment, he added, “baby.

“Fucking nerd.” The words held no heat, more endearing than insulting.

Asahi hooked his arm around Noya’s neck, pulling him down to crash into Asahi, smothering childish giggles and stolen kisses before settling into a close embrace. Nosing along the column on Asahi’s neck, Noya exhaled, curled into the safe breadth of Asahi’s side.

For a few minutes, it was quiet, both their thoughts and movements lethargic in their shared post-sex haze. Asahi was content to fall asleep like this, without having to agonise over the how much longer he had with Noya, of what else they needed to say and do in each other’s company before they were separated.

However, with Noya, he should’ve known things would never follow an ordained path.

“Do you think we could go camping tomorrow? Up to that place you told me about, the sandbar?” Noya asked, seized with a sudden curiosity that Asahi knew wouldn’t be sated through careful restraint.

“It’s a three-hour drive by boat.”

“And? It’s closer than the nearest capital city.”

“We’re going to need to borrow Daichi’s swags and he’ll convince us to bring him and his dogs.”

“So?”

“He’ll want to find high ground so he has service to talk to Suga.”

“Nothing can keep them apart, can it?”

“Noya—” Asahi sighed, already knowing he would inevitably acquiesce. He had trouble denying Noya most things—first his real name, then his Snapchat contact, a picture of himself, a confession, a chance for them to meet.

“Do you really want to go camping with my best friend and his small tribe of dogs?”

Nishinoya nodded, his wicked tongue caught between his teeth. He had abandoned his place curled into Asahi’s side to sit up now, the slim line of his body teetering forward as his weight rested on the precarious point of his knees. Bright-eyed with excitement, Noya’s hands pressed over Asahi’s chest and he bounced in a show of childish enthusiasm—although the mattress didn’t so much as shift under his weight.

“Okay,” Asahi said, feeling like he would enjoy Noya’s daring prospect rather than succumb to his usual nerves. “We’ll do it.”

A fist throw into the air was punctuated by the sound of Noya’s triumphant shout. His chest shaking with weak laughter, Asahi pushed the thin bedsheet aside, although his efforts to leave the comfort of his own bed were halted in a few stolen moments.

All Asahi’s lingering doubts were extinguished, lost to the sensation of lips to pressed his, Noya’s palm cradling the side of Asahi’s face. Absent of his usual verve, Noya kissed with a surprising tenderness that seemed more intimate than what had transpired between them earlier.

Asahi drew back, his breath shortened. “Is everything okay?”

The sound of Noya’s laughter was near silent, his uncharacteristic quiet almost unnerving Asahi. He kissed Asahi’s cheek in appeasement, nudging their noses together in an animal-like gesture of companionship. Asahi could feel the shape of Noya’s smile pressing to his skin, could feel the pliant looseness of his muscles under his hands—he was content, relaxed.

“I’m fine,” Noya answered, like verbal confirmation was needed. “Just happy.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Asahi bent low to kiss Noya, too fleeting to grasp onto more than the chaste expression of affection. However, Asahi was greeted to the sight of Noya’s wide and unmovable grin when he pulled away, so he supposed it was a better alternative than attempting to talk.

He had never been a competent speaker, nor could he easily seem to convey his feelings, but Noya understood—he had always seemed to know the innate inner workings of Asahi’s mind, of his doubts and fears and dreams. But now, for once in his life, he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t worried about his and Noya’s future, nor what could happen in the frightening space and distance between their next reunion.

Asahi was—

“Happy, huh? I’m happy too.”

**Author's Note:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) swiggity swooty asahi scored noya's sweet booty ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
